The Beginning (2 page)

Martin ran over to the desk and grasped the telephone. It was connected to the desk through a coiled wire and felt heavy as he pressed it to his ear. He entered the phone number of his parent’s house and waited as it rang. As he paced he caught the reflection of a man in the blank TV screen. He looked worried, scared and confused simultaneously.

It took Martin a moment to re
cognise himself.

The phone rang out and went through to the answerphone.

Martin slammed the phone down and cursed. He paused for a moment and then redialled. His eyes restlessly wandered across the desk while the phone rang in his ears. It seemed like something out of a science fiction film. There was a large keyboard, a dozen different coloured buttons and a large joystick in the centre. It reminded him of a gaming joystick.

There was one thing Martin did recognise on the desk. In an indented slot was a
television remote. This struck Martin as odd, Colin and Mollie had never approved of televisions, claiming it polluted the mind. He had spent his childhood reading books from authors such as Shakespeare of Hemmingway. Martin cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear and pressed the power button. The local news station immediately appeared on the screen.

“..
experts are describing the situation as critical in many parts of the country. What started out as a minor outbreak of measles has transformed into a nationwide epidemic.”

Martin had caught some news reports about the initial outbreak on Monday, but he never thought it was serious. It was now Sunday, could it have escalated that quickly?

“The infected are not to be approached. I repeat, the infected are not to be approached. They can be recognised by their red pigmented eyes. They are considered highly dangerous and will attack you. Please locate your nearest evacuation camp or lock yourself indoors. God bless us all.”

Then the screen went blue, acc
ompanied by a high whining beep.

Highly dangerous. Will attack. Suddenly Martin felt very safe in the bunker and the thought crossed his mind of not leaving it. He hadn’t spoken to his parents in 3 years. Why should he care about them?

In the top right corner of the screen was a small flash of movement. In the corner was a small box that seemed almost completely pitch black but for a sphere of yellow. Martin leaned forward over the desk and squinted his eyes to try and see what was going on inside the box better. His face was a couple inches from the screen and Martin thought he would see the outline of a figure moving around. He rose up onto his tiptoes and edged closer to the screen. The figure seemed to stand up, Martin edged ever closer until suddenly his nose touched the screen and the small screen burst open, filling the large screen.

It became clear what the figure was.

The picture on the screen was of the inside of the barn Martin had just escaped from. Martin hadn’t had time to look around, but he guessed there must have been a camera located on one of the rafters judging by the picture now on the screen. The man in the green shirt was still banging on the metal block that Martin had disappeared down. However now he had acquired a jack hammer and was savagely swinging it down onto the hatch. There was no sound, but Martin guessed it would’ve been booming. Martin noticed the number (1/9) at the bottom of the screen and a small red dot in the centre of the screen. He put the palm of his hand on the right hand of the screen and dragged it across. A new video stream appeared on the screen.

Martin chuckled to himself, his parents had hated every single form of technology – they didn’t even have a computer! Yet here in the bunker they had a state of the art
camera system!

The video stream now on the screen showed the outside of the barn, looking out onto his parent’s ten acres of land. The sun was high in the sky now and was beating down on the ground relentlessly. And stood in the middle of the picture was
a nurse. Her blonde hair was tangled and draped over her face like a wedding veil. Through the veil shone a pair of black eyes. Her head was tilted towards the sky as if she was sniffing the air.

The red dot on the screen lined up exactly with a dark bloo
dstain on her scrubs top, almost blending in. Martin searched the desk for a button that would zoom in, nothing jumped out to him. None of the buttons had labels of their use so it was left to trial and error. Martin began to press some of the buttons and watch the reaction on the screen. One zoomed out, one switched the camera to heat sensitive, one turned the red dot into a crosshair and another did nothing. Or so it seemed.

Her chest exploded with the impact of a high calibre bullet, knocking her to the
ground.

“Fuck!” shouted Martin.
 

But he had no time to think. Bursting out from one side of the video screen were two men in suits, on the other side of the screen a young girl in a wedding dress sprinted into the picture. They sprinted on all fours, li
ke chimpanzees or monkeys, towards to fallen nurse. Yet she was already sitting up, eyes wild, mouth opened and neck strained as if she was shouting out.

She wasn’t dead.

Ripping through the silence of the bunker was the ring of the telephone. It shook Martin back to reality and his hand lurched towards the receiver.  

“Martin?”

“Dad? Are you okay? Where are you?” The questions seemed to tumble out of Martin’s mouth.

“You got in Hotel North then! I hope you can afford it, $500 a night you know.” Collin North chuckled down the line.

Martin fought back a smile. “Dad, this is serious. Are you and mom okay? There are people, infected people, running around the fields. They’re dangerous.”

“Yeah, one of those infected bastards bit your mom while we were out picking up breakfast at the store. This little girl came out of nowhere and took a chunk out of her arm. Anyway, she’s upstairs resting now.”

“One of them chased me into the barn, down into this bunker. What is this place anyway?”

“I’ll explain later.” There was a pause and Martin could hear a dog’s bark in the background. “What in the world is that?”

Martin had been staring at the screen but not focusing on the events unfolding on them. The group of infected: the two guys in suits, the nurse an
d the bride were hurtling towards the house where his father was located. They were about 200 meters away.

“Mart, I’ll have to call you back, some people are coming to the house.”

“DAD! No d-“

Click.

**

Martin immediately redialled.

“What?”

“Dad, if you’v
e ever trusted me ever, you’ll do what I say now. Grab a gun, go to mom upstairs and lock the door. Stay there till I arrive.”

“Your old man is fine! Don’t worry about me. Listen, if you’re coming out, check under the sofa. I called it the Peacemaker.” Mar
tin could almost hear his dad winking over the phone.

Martin heard a bang, a crash of glass and then the line went dead.

Martin grabbed the joystick and pivoted the camera around the barn, checking the corners and any hiding spots he could think of. Nothing.

He stared at the screen, anxiously shifting his weight between feet. He knew the man could be in the barn waiting to ambush him, but he could not leave his parents alone at the ho
use. Judging the tenacity and strength with which the man had got into the barn, the group approaching his parents’ house would make short work of it.

He needed a drink. That would help, he knew it.

Striding over to the kitchen area he placed the shotgun on the counter and began searching the cupboards, whispering to himself: “Come on dad, come on... you’ve got to have some.. Bingo.”  He wrapped his fingers around the neck of a bottle of whisky, filled a glass tumbler full and knocked it back with veteran experience.

Okay, Martin, let’s go. You can do this.

He checked the camera once more for movement and seeing nothing moved towards the bunker door. He entered 3 digits of the code and let his index finger hover over the last number. What if he got through the trapdoor somehow? What if he was outside the door right now, waiting for me silently?

Martin stood still and listened for a while; silence. He pressed the last number and the door sli
d across, much faster than it seemed before and Martin jumped back with expectation. The stairway was empty. Martin stood at the threshold peering into the bright lights of the staircase and allowed his eyes to adjust. The top few stairs and the hatch were hidden from his vision through a steep incline. He stepped out from the bunker, gripping the shotgun with his finger nervously on the trigger.

He began to climb the stairs carefully, his slippers masked any noise from his footsteps. His eyes picked up on
the bits of dirt on the stairs. He must have brought them in when he first came down the stairs. Probably.

When he reached the top of the stairs he put his ear to the metal block and listened carefully. The only reply was the hollow silence of 4 inches o
f solid metal. He crouched down and entered the code into the keypad on the side, pausing before entering the final digit.  He took a deep breath and pressed it.

The metal block creaked across slowly and loudly, damaged by the continuous striking from the
man’s jackhammer. Martin cringed. He retreated down a few steps and pointed the shotgun at the gaping hole above him. He waited for the crazed, blood covered man’s head to pop into vision. But it never did. After a long moment of intense looking and listening, Martin began to edge up the staircase, step by step. He questioned himself, was this really your plan? Open the hatch and hope for the best?

He was near the top now, one more step and his head would be clear of the hatch. But his foot caught on some
thing and he stumbled. His eyes dropped to check his feet and when he looked up the man was sprinting towards him. Martin drew up the shotgun and pulled the trigger. A spray of metal was spat out the end of the gun and swept the man’s legs from under him.

Not expecting the powerful recoil, Martin staggered backwards. For a second he teetered on the very edge of the step, then lost his footing and fell backwards down the stairs. The man began to crawl along the ground, dragging himself towards Martin’s unco
nscious body at the bottom of the stairs.

A scratching punctured the blackness in Martin’s head, pulling him suddenly from his unconscious state. He found himself lying on his front, every muscle in his body ached and his head felt like it was exploding from within. His thoughts were muddled and for a second he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. Martin was finding it hard to focus his eyes and he blinked rapidly in an attempt to restore his vision.

Then came the scratching sound again.

Martin’s head jerked up and his eyes met with the black pupils of the man. He had slowly dragged himself across the barn and down the steps. The shotgun blast had blown off both his legs above the knee and now he was forced to move using just his arms. But that was more than enough to get to Martin.

The scratching sound was generated from the friction caused between the man’s open thigh bone and the steel steps. Martin froze. How could he handle such trauma? And for what? For me? The man was two arm lengths away f
rom Martin’s head now. Enough for Martin to feel his hot breath in the air. The smell of copper stung his nostrils and clung to the back of his throat.

The shotgun, Martin, get the shotgun.

Martin pushed himself up and his whole body screamed in pain, it felt like thousands of hot needles were hammering into his limbs. He propped himself up against the wall and looked around the gun had thankfully fallen behind him next to the bunker door. He started to scuttle backwards, using the palms of his hands to propel him. The man kept on coming, snarling as he cornered his prey.

Martin reached the shotgun and leant his body back onto the bunker door. The gun felt very heavy is his hands, merely holding it up sapped his energy. He would have to wait.

The man drew closer and closer. For what seemed an eternity, Martin held the man’s eye contact, the black soot of his pupils staring deep into him. There was nothing there but primal desire. Hunger. Desperate hunger.

He was at Martin’s feet now, Martin pulled in his
legs daring the man to come closer. Martin slotted the end of the barrel into the man’s mouth, the hot barrels seared his lips and wisps of smoke rose smoothly. No emotion. Martin pulled the trigger.

Click.

He pulled it again and again. Martin’s curse was loud and prolonged, tilting his head towards the roof of the staircase. He whipped the gun out of the man’s mouth and raised it above his head, then brought it down viciously with a shout onto the man’s skull. Then he did it again. And again. Until there was nothing left.

**

Martin smiled wryly to himself as he bounced the barrel of the shotgun in the palm of his hand.

“Peacemaker, eh? I don’t think so.”

Martin rose to his feet, groaning as his sore muscles screamed at him to sit back down. His hand touched where the pain in his head was, already a large bump was beginning to grow. Mentally checking himself over there was nothing serious wrong, just a few bruises and scratches. He slung the shotgun over his shoulder, stepped over what was left of the man and began to climb the stairs. His feet followed the slick trail of blood leading from the man’s body, up the stairs, out the hatch and to the barn floor where a lone leg stood. Martin pressed the CLOSE button on the keypad and it slowly edged across, creaking with every inch of movement.

The barn was still dim, the only source of light being through the hole under the door. However, he could still make out a lot of the items in the barn. His eyes searched for the camera, which he located in the
barns corner, fixed to one of the rafters.

Standing by the door, Martin began to pull up the bolt but then realised he was leaving the barn open to anyone. He couldn’t lock it from the outside and it’d be an easy way to ambush. Martin’s eyes dropped to th
e hole at his feet. The bottom of the door was dripping with blood, forming a puddle in the hole where several fingernails laid. Martin shuddered. He couldn’t leave the barn open though.

Martin bent down and peeped through to the other side, there was no
sign of movement, everything looked normal. Maybe this was all just a bad dream? No, the pain in his head was too real. He threw the gun through to the other side and waited for something to rip it apart.

Nothing.

As he began to crawl through the first thing that hit him was the smell; strong and coppery.  He felt sick rise in his stomach, but he battled it back down. Drops of thick crimson blood dripped down onto the back of his head as he pulled himself through carefully, trying to avoid the puddle below him. Suddenly a bit of dirt slipped under his grasp and his hand plunged into the puddle of blood and fingernails. Warm, wet and sticky. After that, Martin pulled himself through quickly, not caring what he touched.

On the other side, the sun beat down
relentlessly and Martin’s eyes took a few seconds to adjust from the darkness of the bunker and the barn. About 40 feet from him Martin saw the nurse he had shot, crawling towards him, the bullet had ripped her clean in two. Yet she was still alive and she wasn’t looking for help, but rather for food. For Martin.

He picked up the shotgun and started jogging towards the house, eyes scanning his surroundings. His ears pricked when he heard the sound of an engine from behind the hedge in the field next to him
. He stopped and looked in the engine’s directions. Someone must have heard to gunshots and screams. Someone must be coming to help.

Through a hole in the hedge roared two quad bikes, they immediately saw Martin and started speeding towards him, guns glis
tening in the sunlight.